Requiems and Reveries
by Orsino 12
Summary: "In my end is my beginning." As the last shadows of the day gather about them, John and Cameron reflect upon the love, the sacrifice, and the heroism that have defined their lives together.  Can the heart endure or are all loves doomed to die?
1. Chapter 1

**John's Story, Part One.**

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The raised point of land thrust out into the Pacific north of San Francisco. Once it had been know as Conestoga Point but now by special decree of the Restored United States Congress and the universal acclimation of the people of California, it was Connor Point. Lest anyone claim ignorance of the name change, a polished bronze plaque attached to the front gate of the estate bore the inscription

CONNOR POINT

RESIDENCE OF GENERAL JOHN CONNOR

A GIFT FROM A GRATEFUL NATION

2027

John had fallen in love with the land when he had first seen it just after the war ended. Against all odds it had escaped the destruction of that terrible conflict. He had envisioned a small house or cabin where he, Cameron and the girls could live and watch the ocean in the bright sunlight-a pleasure so long denied.

The citizens of the Restored State of California would not, however, allow the First Soldier of the Resistance to live so humbly. So a great house had arisen-a soaring physical symphony of wood, stone, and glass surrounded by an elaborately carved stone wall to protect the General's privacy.

John had watched the early construction with a growing sense of bemused wonder. Once, at dinner, he had suggested that he might just tear the "whole damn thing" down. That off-hand remark provoked an immediate response in the form of a united front. Cameron, Marissa, and Allison took turns explaining all the reasons why he could never be so ungrateful.

"Besides Dad," Marissa had said slyly, "it will give your grandchildren a place to play."

John had looked up in thunderstruck amazement, unaware until that moment that his elder daughter was pregnant. From Cameron's studied disinterest to Allison's conspiratorial wink at her sister to his new son-in-law's nervously intense interest in his plate, John realized that he was the last to know. Where was John Henry's intelligence unit when he needed it?

His doubts about the new house collapsed and nothing more was ever said about not living on the Point. Now more than fifteen years later it was their home, their sanctuary.

The accomplished grown women that John still lovingly called his "girls," of course, no longer lived at home. Marissa worked with her best friend, Savannah Weaver, at the Bio/Cyber Research Center of Weaver Enterprises in Corvallis. Allison operated an increasingly famous dance academy in Colorado. They visited regularly and called even more often but John continued to miss them terribly. It was difficult, however, to be too lonely in a house that rarely felt entirely empty. Guests had become a routine part of life. Old comrades from the war, new friends, and the inevitable dignitaries wishing to be seen in the presence of General John Connor were always at the door.

Despite numerous attempts to change his mind, John had resolutely turned down all attempts to lure him into public office. His response was invariably the same. "I'm a soldier and my war is over. I want to enjoy my family in peace." Despite this entreaty it soon became evident that John Connor would never be allowed to escape into some self-created obscurity. No major political figure anywhere in the world felt comfortable with an element of policy unless he or she had first made the "pilgrimage" to Connor Point and received at least the tacit approval of General Connor. Ever the hospitable host, John rarely turned anyone away. No matter who the guest, however, there was always one special part of the estate that remained off-limits to visitors. On the outer edge of the patio two chairs had been placed close together and carefully positioned so the occupants could enjoy an unobstructed view of the sea. No one used those chairs except John and Cameron. This evening they sat, as always, hand in hand watching the sky burst into a glittering spectrum of color as the sun slipped toward the western horizon.

To the casual or uninformed observer they might have appeared to be father and daughter or even grandfather and granddaughter. John's gun-metal gray hair and care-worn face revealed the painful passage of time while Cameron looked no more than eighteen. Her long brown hair still tumbled down her slender back. Her dark brown eyes still illuminated the pristine beauty of her face.

In their bedroom Cameron maintained an expansive supply of wigs and makeup. In public moments she could craft an illusion of a mature woman closer to her husband's age. John preferred, however, that when they had the house to themselves she remain "his Cameron," the young woman he had met in New Mexico so long ago. Sometimes to tease him she suggested that he just wanted to feel like a 'dirty old man.'

'With you-always,' he would reply.

"Gorgeous sunset tonight, isn't it Cam?"

"There is still a significant amount of dust in the atmosphere from the war. It diffuses the light and helps create the multiple colors."

"Cameron." John sounded exasperated. "Must you be so literal?"

As he turned toward her John realized that there was a sly smile on her face. Gotcha. Once again he had stumbled headlong into one Cameron's subtle jokes. He found it hard to recall that there had ever been a time when she had not understood ironic humor because she certainly did now.

"Yes, John, it truly is a beautiful sunset."

John raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. Turning his face back toward the horizon he spoke in a soft, intimate voice. "Cameron, do you think there has ever been a time when we weren't in love?"

Cameron smiled inwardly while maintaining an expression of pensive concentration. John routinely asked her this exact question-not because he was unsure of her response but because it thrilled him to hear her answer. "No John, I do not. There may have been times when we did not understand our feelings," Cameron thought back to those early days before her programing had grown and evolved in ways she had never anticipated. "There may have been times when we struggled against it," Especially you John, she thought. "But through it all, I believe you and I have loved each other from first sight."

John leaned over and brushed his lips against hers. "I couldn't agree more my darling." As he spoke, John's memories conjured up a disjointed series of images from their past. One moment he was twenty again and they were making love for the first time in their bedroom in the San Francisco house trying with little success to muffle their passion enough so Sarah wouldn't hear. Then it was the war. His command post had been under fire for what had seemed like an eternity. Cameron had reluctantly left his side to go check on the girls in the bomb shelter. When the shelling finally stopped and he went to their quarters he found Cameron lying on the bed softly humming a lullaby as she cradled both girls in her arms. He had looked down at them and experienced a sense of joy that was almost more than his body could contain. Memories could hurt. Memories could heal. To John Connor as long as the memories included her they sustained him.

The sun had gradually eased below the western horizon leaving only a faint pink glow in the sky. Evening shadows were lengthening and the soft outside lights that illuminated the grounds came on. The end of the day at Connor Point.

"Cameron, let's go for a walk. I'd like to say goodnight to Mom."

"I thought you might," Cameron softly replied as she rose from her chair. She watched with quickly concealed dismay as John struggled to his feet. A grimace of pain flashed across his face as he tried to straighten his right leg. The twice rebuilt knee was hurting him again.

"Would you like your cane?" she asked.

John immediately looked offended. "No, I do NOT want my cane."

In that moment he drew himself upright and gave her a look of stern displeasure that once terrified any number of junior officers. It was wasted on Cameron. For a prolonged instant John held his stoney expression before the facade disintegrated. He laughed and put his arm around her. "You have been talking to Lauren again."

Cameron responded with a look of complete innocence. "Of course I talk to Lauren. She is my friend."

"Yes, and she is my doctor. I suspect that my dear wife is plotting with my doctor to treat me like some kind of invalid. Which I am not."

"Of course you are not," Cameron whispered. She didn't deny plotting, John thought. She stepped up to his right and gently put her left arm around his waist. As they started down the long walkway that encircled the estate, John immediately realized what she was doing. By walking with him in that fashion she could use her strength to take some of the pressure off of his leg. Cameron always had an alternative plan ready.

John was correct. Cameron and Lauren were conspiring. It had begun in earnest after his recent physical in October. Lauren had long since given up on trying to persuade John to come to her office. Whenever she believed it was time she simply appeared at the house with two of her nurses in tow and demanded his attention. Despite grumbling and complaining John always acquiesced. Doctor Lauren Fields Delgado was far more than just his physician. She was a comrade, his chief medical officer for most of the war, and a treasured friend. Such people were not to be denied.

Lauren had conducted her examination upstairs in their bedroom. When she came back down to the lower level of the house, Cameron sat waiting. Her impassive cyborg-like patience masked the turmoil of her inner concerns. "You don't look happy Lauren."

Lauren slowly shook her head as she sat down opposite Cameron. She still wore her hair in the same pixie style she had favored as a teenager when Cameron had helped save her life the first time. The kind, compassionate face that had given comfort to countless wounded resistance fighters was only slightly obscured by her large horn-rimmed glasses.

"You know you can tell me," Cameron said.

"I know, Cammie." Lauren was one of the very few people outside the family who could address Cameron with such casual informality.

Lauren reached out and took her friend's hand. "Cammie, there is nothing specifically wrong but he has made too many demands on his body. He has asked too much. He has given too much. He isn't that old but it's as if every part of his body is wearing out. Pulmonary function, circulation, muscular strength, there is measurable deterioration every time I examine him."

"I thought so," Cameron whispered. Lauren looked momentarily startled as if she had forgotten who she was speaking to. She quickly remembered, though. "I should realize that with your sensory ability you are probably a better diagnostician than I am."

"Not really. But I could tell that there have been changes. I could also sense that the rate of change was accelerating."

Cameron paused and then asked the question she did not want to ask and Lauren did not wish to answer. "How long?"

"It is difficult to say. Conditions might change. I can't be precise."

Cameron lightly squeezed Lauren's hand. "Tell me, Lauren, tell me. How long?"

As Lauren responded, a tear ran down her left cheek. "One to two years. If I can find a way to slow the process, if you can get him to rest more, to avoid unnecessary exertion, we might be able to buy some more time. But we have to cherish every minute we have with him."

Cameron looked up as she heard the upstairs bedroom door open. John was coming down. She heard him whistle-off key as usual.

"I always have. I always will."


	2. Chapter 2

**The Honor Guard.**

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Cameron's memory was precise, exhaustive and complete. She could recall every word that she had ever said or had been said to her. Now as she and John strolled slowly down the walkway, she reviewed her response to Lauren. Almost involuntarily she tightened her embrace around his waist trying to draw him even closer. "Cameron," John whispered, "remember what I told you about breakable ribs?"

"Sorry." Cameron leaned her head against his shoulder and felt his hand brush the hair away from her forehead.

"Apology accepted."

Still arm in arm, their walk had led them near the North Gate. As they approached they could hear the measured tread of booted feet marching in perfect cadence outside the wall.

"Cameron do you think-?" John's question was immediately interrupted.

"No John. I know what you are going to say and no, the honor guards will not be withdrawn. Ever."

"It just seems so silly to keep them here. We don't need to be protected."

On that point John was undoubtedly correct. Outside guards were not needed to assure the safety of the estate. With Cameron, John Henry, and occasionally Catherine in residence an intruder would be easily overcome. Added to that was the fact that every member of the household staff was a reprogramed cyborg as well as a veteran of the Spartacus Brigade. Any assault on the estate would have been suicidal. No, the guards were not there simply to protect. They were there to offer tribute.

"John, the last time you even suggested removing the guards when President Martinez was here, I was shaking her hand and her biorhythms almost went off scale. I thought she was going to have a heart attack."

John chuckled. "Her face did get red."

"You must understand that no civil leader in the world would accept responsibility for taking away General John Connor's honor guards. Besides, I believe the First Division would mutiny if anyone tried to order them to leave."

The First Division of the Army of the Resistance had supposedly been absorbed back into the military establishment of the Restored United States. Despite that fact the unit never abandoned its traditions or its symbols. The troopers of the division still referred to themselves as the "Old Guard," all commissioned officers still displayed the wrist tattoo with a red J enclosed by a diamond shape and the gold,"I" decorated all division uniforms even though it was not officially sanctioned. There were many in government who openly wondered where the division's loyalty would lie if it had to choose between General Connor and the official chain of command.

There were others who didn't wonder. They knew.

John smiled broadly. "The First is a passionate bunch."

Cameron also smiled. "Do you remember what happened the last time the Legion de la Republique was here?"

"Oh God," John laughed. "We almost had a major diplomatic incident."

By custom the North and South Gates to Connor Point were guarded by visiting detachments from all over the world. The main gate, however, remained the exclusive responsibility of the First Division. Six months ago the Legion had arrived from France to take up the North Gate post. The Legion traced its origins to a small cadre of fighters John had recruited during their sojourn in Provence and was not inclined to grant deference to any other unit. Just after it arrived Colonel Andre De Clerec, the French Commander sent what he considered a throughly polite letter to Colonel Mark Ryan of the First Regiment, First Division. Colonel De Clerec suggested that in the interests of fraternity and comradeship, they should consider rotating the duties for each gate so that every contingent would have a turn at the main entrance.

Colonel Ryan's written response was brief and to the point. He suggested that the French could sit on it and rotate if they wished but that First Division had marched with General Connor throughout the war and the Old Guard would not relinquish its position to anyone. Ever. Colonel De Clerec regretfully concluded that Colonel Ryan's response lacked appropriate decorum and a requisite degree of military courtesy. Gathering a number of his men he decided to walk to the front gate to discuss the issue further. Seeing the French approach Ryan sent for all of his off-duty troopers and a vigorous discussion followed. Although no shots were fired, the conversation produced a number of cuts, bruises and at least four broken bones before John decided to intervene.

At John's request Cameron quickly donned one of her mature personas and walked to the front gate. The approach of the General's lady brought the proceedings to an abrupt halt. When she announced that the noise was disturbing the General's rest a mortified silence fell upon all participants. A quick face-saving compromise was negotiated whereby the Legion would be allowed to send two of its soldiers one day a week to share the guard duty at the front gate. It was made abundantly clear that no further adjustments would be considered. Ever.

By now the walkway had curved back toward the house. The tread of the guards had faded away into the evening twilight as they approached what John called The Grotto. A white marble arch rose over the entrance to a beautifully landscaped enclosure. A fountain softly bubbled water in front of two monuments on each side of the arch. On the right a white obelisk rose upward nearly ten feet. To the left stood a slightly shorter gray granite tablet.

As John stepped toward the obelisk Cameron quietly moved a few steps back. He leaned forward to put his hand on the place where the name Sarah Connor was engraved. Below her name were the words mother, teacher, protector, Heroine of the Resistance. John bowed his head and moved his lips. Cameron had already reduced her auditory capability. This was a moment when his words were between John and his mother. Sarah's physical remains were not actually there. At the time of her death, Resistance medical protocol required that the bodies of all victims of biological attack be cremated and the ashes buried. John had always believed, however, that her spirit was present in any place where he remembered her life. Increasingly it was here at this time of the evening that he most celebrated his memory of his mother.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sarah's Story.**

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There had been an heart-ripping irony in the way Sarah died.

The war was in its third year and they had all eluded death's grasp on more than one occasion. They had actually all been together at Desidero Station-John, Cameron, Sarah, Marissa and Allison. Even Catherine and Savannah had come up to what was serving as John's headquarters. They had enjoyed one last dinner together before John Henry's intelligence section reported significant new Skynet activity further south. John decided to abandon the facility and move in that direction. Cameron and the girls left along with Catherine and Savannah in the first evacuation convoy.

When he was ready to leave John tried to persuade Sarah to come with him. She refused. Sarah had personally organized a group known as the Resistance Auxiliary Services. The RAS was made up of various individuals who because of age or infirmity were unsuited for front line service. They could and did act as garrison soldiers, supply personnel or in any other role that freed soldiers for combat. At that moment her RAS people were busily engaged in stripping everything useful from Desidero before they evacuated.

"I could order you to come with me," he said, glaring at his mother.

"You could try." Sarah Connor loved her son with all her heart. She deeply respected him. She was not intimidated by him.

John laughed. "Damn, you would make me court-martial my own mother for disobeying orders, wouldn't you?" Sarah laughed in response. "Oh come on, John. We just have a little more work to do. You know that everything we can salvage might be useful later. Give us another day, day and a half tops, and we will all be out of here."

John always knew when it was time to retreat, particularly from Sarah. He hugged his mother and whispered "meanest badass soldier in the world" in her ear.

As he reached the door to the outside, he turned to look back at Sarah. He waved and called out "Allison's birthday is in three days and she expects her grandmother to be there."

Sarah smiled and waved. It was the last time he saw her.

Some speculated that the aerial attack on Desidero was a deliberate Skynet attempt to kill John Connor. Others believed it had just been a random target of opportunity, a test of Skynet's latest weapon. The question remains unanswered.

The HK had swept in low and quiet evading detection. It had begun its bomb run before anyone even knew it was there. Multiple explosions shook the post tearing loose large chunks of the ceilings and filling the interior with a haze of gray dust. But when the HK broke off its attack there were only three minor casualties. The RAS people and the few remaining combat troopers left at the post all thought they had been lucky. They hadn't.

The conventional bombs had simply been a distraction. By a sheer monstrous fluke the biological weapon had exploded directly on top of the main air vent. In seconds the toxins were sucked into every part of the tunnels. Within three hours the first victims began to die.

News of the bio-attack on Desidero spread rapidly through John's new headquarters twenty miles south. Cameron was reviewing some of the recent intelligence assessments with John Henry when the first transmissions came in. She immediately ended the discussion and ran toward John's office. If this was true, he would need her. As she hurried down the hall she heard the loud exchange of voices coming from the clerk's area outside his office. Turning the corner she saw John glaring ferociously at Lauren Fields. Both were obviously upset but Lauren was clearly not backing down.

"Are you telling me there is nothing you can do?"

"My immunology people have analyzed the blood chemistry data and the symptoms the nurse at Desidero relayed before she...before communications broke off. We think it is an entirely new toxic strain. We have no antidote right now. We will find one but not before-"

"Not in time to help the people at Desidero!"

Cameron could see that John was raging less at Lauren than at a fate he knew he could not change.

"All right. Get me a bio-suit. I'm going up there."

"No, you are not!" Cameron marveled at Lauren's fearless resolve, her absolute refusal to give ground when she believed she was right.

"Why am I not?" John snapped.

"Because I am the chief medical officer in this command and I have imposed a one mile quarantine zone around Desidero Station."

"And I am the commanding General of this army. If I order you to do something you will do it."

Lauren's tone changed. She was no longer speaking as a doctor or as a resistance officer but as friend. "You are right John. If you order me to get you a bio-suit and let you violate the quarantine, I'll do it. I owe you that much and more. But you will also have to relieve me as Chief Medical Officer."

"Come on Lauren, you don't mean that."

"Yes, I do. Either you trust me to make decisions in situations like this or you don't. If you don't trust me, you need to get someone else."

All the anger was gone from John's voice. "Lauren, it's my mother."

"I know that. God, don't you think I know its Sarah?" Lauren took a breath and her edge returned. "But General Connor, there are other mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters at Desidero. What do I tell their families if I make an exception for you?"

John stared at Lauren without speaking. Then he spun around and walked into his office. The door slammed behind him and the lock clicked into place.

Lauren stood motionless looking at the closed door for a long moment before turning to see Cameron standing just inside the room.

"He will never forgive me, Cameron."

"Yes, he will Lauren. He will because you are right and he knows it. But he has to live through this first."

Lauren nodded, gave Cameron's arm a quick squeeze, and hurried away.

Cameron waited another minute, counting down the seconds, before she approached the locked door to John's office. "John," she called out. "Please unlock the door and let me in."

"Go away Cameron." His voice sounded lifeless, as mechanical as any Skynet terminator. "I want to be alone right now."

Cameron shook her head. "John, if you do not open the door, I will break the lock. Let me in."

Cameron was about to carry out her threat when the lock clicked and the door opened. John did not speak to her. He moved back to his desk and slumped into his chair. Turning his head away from her, he stared blankly at the wall.

Cameron quietly closed the door. Without a word she walked over, grabbed the arms of his chair and turned him to face her. She seized the front of his shirt and with casual cyborg strength pulled him to his feet. And then tenderly, but firmly, she wrapped her arms around him in her most loving embrace. Slowly leaning forward she rested her head on his chest and listened to the beat of his agitated heart.

"I am sorry, John. I am so sorry."

For ten seconds, ten seconds exactly, he stood immobile, impassive, unresponsive. Then he began to tremble and shake with a despair he could no longer contain. He put his arms around her and clung to her as if he were afraid if he let go he would never be able to hold her again. He bent his head down until it touched hers and began to sob. Cameron drew his grief away from him as he wept all the tears he had for Sarah. He would never stop mourning his mother or cease treasuring her memory, but he would never cry again.

It might have eased John's pain if he had known that Sarah did not die uncomforted. But on certain matters Catherine Weaver kept her own counsel. Just as she had never told Sarah about visiting John in the hospital after Operation Redemption, Catherine did not share the circumstances of Sarah Connor's last moments with her son or anyone else.

Catherine had gone on a solitary reconnaissance for John Henry's intelligence group. Shifting her physical form as required she had easily penetrated Skynet's lines to the West and was meticulously noting the number and type of terminators in the sector. From her impromptu observation post she was plotting her next move when she heard the report about Desidero. The doomed facility was more than fifteen miles away from her. Logically, rationally, there was simply no reason for her to consider it further. There was nothing she could accomplish there. She was properly positioned to carry out her mission. Desidero Station was not her concern.

For another minute Catherine watched as two Triple-8s moved across the landscape in the distance. And then the thought, unexpected but irresistible, surged through her. Logic be damned! Shifting into the metallic serpent form that allowed her to cover broad distances with extraordinary speed, she raced away toward Desidero Station.

There had never been much of the post above ground and what little there was had been blasted into rubble by the HK. Moving silently around the perimeter Catherine found the small hole torn into the roof by the bombing. She shrank her form further and eased herself into the structure. In the best times an underground resistance post was drearily unattractive and starkly utilitarian. At Desidero, even before the attack inflicted additional damage, Sarah's RAS had stripped away everything useable leaving behind an utterly desolate environment. And now there were dead bodies.

As she moved down the corridor Catherine found three of the station's last inhabitants sprawled on the concrete floor. They had died where they had fallen and no one had bothered to move or even cover the corpses. One of them was an older man, his face still contorted with pain. The other two were younger women. Catherine was struck with the impression that they actually looked relieved-as if they had known their suffering was ending.

In some of the rooms she passed she heard coughs, moans, or just a gasping for breath. At each room she looked in quickly, satisfying herself that Sarah wasn't one of the people inside. Morphed back into her human form she continued down the hallway.

Catherine heard the voices, some angry, some pleading. They were coming from ahead of her, around the corner where the main entrance to the facility was located. Staying in the shadows she edged forward. Turning the corner she could see Sarah sitting in a chair with her back to the metal door, a rifle lying in her lap. Her hair hung damp and limp from perspiration, her face was red and glistening with fever. An elderly man, one of her RAS was leaning against the door beside her. He also held a rifle.

Facing them were five people, three men and two women. All five were clearly overwrought, angry with desperation echoing in their voices. None of them seemed to be armed.

"Sarah!" One of the women was practically begging. "You have to let us go. We'll die if we stay here!"

Sarah slowly shook her head. Her voice was dry, parched and strained, but still uncompromisingly resolute. "We are all going to die Susan. We have all got it and there is nothing anyone can do for us. If you leave all you will do is spread it." Sarah struggled to draw a breath. "I am not going to let you do that."

One of the younger men took a step forward. "Just locking up our guns won't stop us. If we rush you, you can't kill us all."

Bracing herself against the wall Sarah rose to her feet and turned her rifle in his direction. "We can damn well try, can't we Harry?"

The old man at her side had swung his gun toward the group. "I don't want to shoot any of you. We have all been friends. But we can't let this disease get out of here. We owe that to the people we care about."

Concealed by the shadows in the hallway Catherine was prepared to leap forward if the would-be escapees attacked Sarah. But she could sense that the crisis had passed. They were all giving up. One by one they edged away and stumbled back down the corridor. None of them even noticed her.

Sarah turned to her elderly companion. "I think that's it Harry. I don't believe any of them will try to leave again."

"Good thing," the old man said. "My gun is not loaded anyway."

Sarah stared at him for a moment before chuckling-a low, painful, guttural sound. "God Harry, we are all crazy."

"Not for much longer," Harry answered. "If it is all right with you, I'd like to go back to my room. If Margie is still alive I want to spend the last-"

"Go Harry," Sarah cut him off.

As the old man started down the darkened corridor, he turned back for a moment. "Goodbye Sarah."

"Goodbye Harry."

Still in the shadows Catherine watched as Sarah walked slowly back in the direction of her quarters. Once she was seized by a coughing fit that caused her to bend over but then she straightened and continued her labored progress. There was nothing left in her room except a cot, a small battered end table and a framed photograph. John Henry had taken it years ago when they were all at the villa in Provence. It had been one of those rare days when they had found a few hours of precious leisure. They were having a picnic on the grounds outside the house and the afternoon sun had spread a golden glow. The food was still laid out on a colorfully patterned tablecloth. Cameron was sitting beside it and John was stretched out on the ground with his head resting in her lap. His eyes were closed, Cameron's hand was in the act of caressing his forehead and they both looked joyfully content. Behind them Marissa and Savannah were tossing a large inflated ball back and forth, being children, just carefree children. Sarah and Catherine were sitting near each other in folding lawn chairs. If you looked carefully you could detect the sign of maternal pleasure on Catherine's face as she watched Savannah. Sarah was holding Allison in her lap. The camera had caught the moment when Sarah tickled her and the little girl burst out in wild giggles. As she staggered unsteadily toward her cot Sarah reached out and lightly touched the photo. "I am sorry I missed your birthday sweetheart," she whispered as she sank down onto the cot.

Sarah knew it wouldn't be much longer. Most had died within seven hours of becoming symptomatic. She had first displayed signs of the disease more than eight hours ago. It would happen soon.

Stretching out on her cot, she closed her eyes. She was wracked by a spate of coughing but then it seemed to ease off. The joint pain actually lessened. She was thirsty and she tried to lick her lips but even her tongue felt dry. There was a water bottle somewhere but she didn't believe she had the strength to look for it. It would not be long now.

The cold wet cloth suddenly stroking her face felt heavenly. Surely she was imagining it. Then she felt the arm slide under her shoulders and lift her up. A metallic cup full of a cool liquid touched her mouth. She drank greedily. Struggling to open her eyes she saw the red hair first and then the face took form.

"Catherine?" Sarah sounded incredulous. "Catherine, what the hell are you doing here?"

Catherine pursed her lips in apparent irritation but she still held the cup of water to Sarah's lips. "I thought I had come to see you but evidently I came to be snapped at-quite rudely I might say."

"That's you, Catherine, a bitch to the end."

Abruptly Catherine smiled. "I think the correct response is that it takes one to know one." Gently she eased Sarah's head back down on the cot.

Sarah's body shook as she laughed and coughed simultaneously. She thrust out her hand and seized Catherine's in a tight grip. "Believe it or not, I am glad to see you."

Catherine shook her head slightly. How had it happened? How had these weak, irrational creatures become so important to her? Why did she care what became of them? Why did she love them?

"You understand that there is nothing I can do for you, Sarah?"

Sarah nodded. "I know, but I'm still happy you came."

Catherine looked at the photograph on the small table. "Is there anything you would like me to tell General Connor or-?"

"No." Sarah did not hesitate. "If they all don't know how much I care about them by now, some teary last message isn't going to change it." Sarah's breathing was becoming increasingly labored. "This is going to be hard enough for them. Don't load them down with some last painful memory. Don't tell them, don't tell John anything, please."

"I will not. I promise." Catherine gave Sarah's hand a squeeze. "Try to rest now."

Sarah could sense a growing darkness spreading through the room as if lights were being turned off, one by one. Clinging to Catherine's hand, she tried to focus on her facial features but they were beginning to fade.

"I think I'm going to miss you, Thelma." Catherine did not respond except to tighten her hold on Sarah's hand.

As the last vestiges of light faded away and she felt the pain leave her, Sarah Connor had one final conscious thought.

How about that?

She let me get the last word.

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Behind the marble obelisk on Connor Point, set in a way to avoid distracting attention from the monument, a flat stone and silver marker had been placed on the ground. The inscription was brief.

SISTER BY HEART NOT BIRTH.

On each side of the marker a miniature rose bush bloomed. John always claimed that the bushes had been planted so they could display their flowers and thorns to each other.

John slowly withdrew his hand from Sarah's monument and stepped back. He felt Cameron renew her embrace as her arm encircled his waist. He reached out and pulled her even closer. "You know she loved you too, don't you?"

Cameron looked at the obelisk for a moment before she answered. "Yes, John, I believe she did. I believe she loved us all." That may have been Sarah's most difficult journey, Cameron thought. It was her willingness to undertake that effort that made her a heroine.


	4. Chapter 4

**"We all die for you."**

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Holding Cameron tightly in his grasp, John moved toward the granite tablet. Here was one more place where memories could be cherished and farewells offered. The words were carved deeply at the top of the monument.

SOLDIERS OF THE RESISTANCE

FALLEN COMRADES NEVER FORGOTTEN

Although John had bought precious time by delaying Skynet's assault on humanity for almost seven years, time used to weaken Skynet's lethal weapons and build his own resources, the war in all its deadly ferocity had still come. But from the beginning Skynet had to face more than just a disoriented and traumatized human race. Like the mythical warriors born from dragon's teeth planted in the soil, the Army of the Resistance had sprung into being. Skynet's plan for world dominion collided with a strong and prepared opponent. More died in the epic struggle that followed than could ever be listed on any one monument. On this stone, however, John preserved the memory of those he had held particularly close. Simply reading the names could still cause his voice to shake.

James Ellison-no less a soldier even though he died of a massive heart attack at his Zeira Corporation desk before the actual war began. The unrelenting work, the pounding intensity by which he performed his service to John had killed him just as certainly as would a shell in battle. Poor Tarissa, John thought. Widowed twice in one lifetime-two husbands lost to John Connor's crusade.

Emilio and Chola Garza. The massive car bomb that ended their lives had been intended to destroy John and Cameron. They left John with special memories and a quickly assumed responsibility for their two children. Emilio and Chola had loved each other, fought together and died together. Perhaps it was what they would have wished.

There was a small worn spot by the next name, a sign that John regularly touched the stone.

General Ceasar Delgado

Commander

First Division

The Old Guard Remembers

In two different time lines Ceasar had played a special role in John's life. During his first sojourn in the future Delgado had been an older, cynical ex-gang member who took a confused young boy under his protective wing. When that boy evolved into a warrior Ceasar shifted roles and followed John with an unshakeable loyalty. In the present time John had diverted the life of a teenaged Delgado away from a wasted existence in the streets and into the early stages of the resistance. In both instances it was Ceasar Delgado's commitment to John Connor that defined him.

Even before the war began Ceasar had already transformed a loose collection of neighborhood kids into what they called the New J Company. They followed John but it was Ceasar who gave them the swagger and confidence that distinguished them. They clung to that attitude after the outbreak of the war even as they grew from a company to a regiment to the First Division-the tip of John Connor's spear. Eight years into the war and the reputation of Ceasar Delgado's fighters had become legend in the resistance.

It was, in fact, the special status of the First Division that caused concern and even some open dismay when John announced his plan for what became known as "the Great March North."

As usual, Cameron had been sitting quietly behind him when he told his staff about the latest report from John Henry's intelligence group.

"Our people are convinced that Skynet itself has taken physical refuge in the old Creager complex near San Francisco." As the whisper of excitement spread through his officers John confirmed what they already suspected.

"This army is going north. We are going to make Skynet fight or die." And then punctuating his statement with a bitter chuckle he added, "Actually we are going to make it do both."

The initial enthusiasm waned when the order of march was revealed. No one wanted to criticize the General openly but he seemed to be leaving a lot of his strength behind. The Reserve Artillery wasn't going and neither was the Spartacus Brigade. Even the most pronounced metal haters had to acknowledge the proven value of the reprogramed cyborgs and terminators in the Brigade. Going without them did not feel like a good idea. But even more shocking was the announcement that First Division wasn't going. The pride of the resistance was being left behind to watch the South and the West-areas that had been quiet for more than a year.

In the fading twilight of a hot July evening just south of San Isadore the concerns of those who doubted General Connor's troop dispositions appeared to be vindicated. Frantic advance recon units reported the advance of a huge Skynet force-metal of every kind-driving on a broad front straight at them. John ordered an immediate halt and shifted his forces into a defensive battle line. At a hurriedly called staff conference Cameron saw once again the preternatural calm John always exhibited in the face of battle.

"Gentlemen, this is Skynet's Battle of the Bulge. It is trying one last desperate offensive with everything it has. Tell your men that if we stop it here the end of this war will be in sight. Now let's get to it."

John's officers returned to their units displaying an outer confidence that they did not all share.

The battle raged into the night all along the line. Explosions, flames and the incessant rumble of mass gunfire ripped apart the darkness. Skynet's assaults had been repulsed but many had begun to wonder how much longer that could continue. Ammunition stores were being depleted, casualties were mounting. It was in the midst of the continuing fury that near 2:30 AM Colonel Paul Burdette of John's staff reluctantly approached him.

"General, our last reserves are moving into the line. It looks as if the metal is massing vehicles directly in front of this position. Staff thinks it might be wise if you were to shift your headquarters."

"I appreciate your concern Colonel, but that won't be necessary."

Burdette was tired, bone grindingly weary. He had been up and down the line all evening. He had seen men die and more than once had nearly died himself. His fatigue made him fatalistically bold.

"General, you have probably read more military history than I have but the Germans did lose the Battle of the Bulge didn't they?"

John winked at Cameron who was standing at his side in full protector mode. He laughed and slapped Burdette on the shoulder. "Yes, Paul, they did." He glanced down at the illuminated dial on his wrist watch. 2:30 AM "And we are about to give Skynet a history lesson."

Before Burdette could reply the eastern sky erupted in the blinding light of a fiery dawn. A deafening roar of new artillery fire swept across the battlefield and a rain of destruction descended on Skynet's exposed forces. "What in the name of God...?" Burdette's voice was shaking.

"Colonel Burdette." John spoke with a chilling tone of lethal satisfaction. "Please inform all units that First Division is on the field."

At that exact moment the Army of the Resistance realized that it had not stumbled into a Skynet ambush. Skynet had walked into General Connor's trap. John had used his main force, his own person as bait. While Skynet's attention had been riveted on the spectacle of the march, Ceasar had gathered all the forces John had supposedly left behind, moved east almost fifty miles and then began "Delgado's Dash" north. Bursting unseen out of the night First Division's attack rivaled Blucher at Waterloo, Stonewall Jackson at Chancellorsville and Patton at Bastagone. Skynet's flank crumbled.

Even before the main assault began, Ceasar had unleashed the Spartacus Brigade against Skynet's rear. Within an hour confusion had become chaos throughout Skynet's battlefield communications. Before another hour had passed Skynet units had begun to blindly shoot at each other.

At 5:00 AM John launched a general counter-attack all along his line. Caught between two raging fires and with its rear elements in complete disorder, Skynet's forces collapsed. By 9:00 AM Skynet's principal army in Northern California had ceased to exist as a cohesive force.

It was at that moment of triumph that General Ceasar Delgado set off in his staff car across the ground littered with the detritus of war on his way to General Connor's command post. Ceasar wanted to salute the Jefe and shake his hand. The plan they had conceived in private had worked to perfection. They had won. It was never determined whether the unexploded artillery shell had come from a Skynet or a Resistance weapon. All that was known was that the ground vibration generated by Delgado's staff car reawakened the destructive force that had lain in wait. The explosion lifted the car off the ground and hurled it more than twenty feet. John was sitting at a field table drinking vile day old coffee reheated multiple times on a camp stove and reviewing the reports from the various elements of the army. As usual the casualty figures were sobering but not as bad as he had feared. When Colonel Burdette handed him still another scrap of paper he took it without looking up. He did not see the stricken expression on Burdette's face before he glanced casually at the message.

John exploded out of his chair. "Get my vehicle. NOW!" With his startled security detail running behind frantically trying to catch up, John and Cameron sprinted to his staff car. Gravel and dust filled the air as it sped away.

The drive seemed to take an interminable amount of time. Finally, the staff car screeched to halt outside the jumble of tents and dusty mismatched vehicles pressed into service as ambulances. They had reached the Division's field hospital. Cameron saw the small cluster of troopers gathered outside the entrance to the largest tent. They all wore the gold colored symbol of the First Division. They all had faces strained with fatigue but their expressions ran a gamut from stolid impassivity to open anguish. As John leapt out of his car they tried to salute but he was by them almost before they could react.

"I've come to see General Delgado."

The senior physician who had met them nodded knowingly.

"Yes, sir. We have him over here." The doctor pointed to a side of the tent where the staff had used some old worn sheets to create a small enclosure. John understood what they had done. They were trying to let him die with a small touch of privacy. At times it was the only gift a battlefield hospital could give.

The doctor pulled aside the sheet revealing the entrance to the tiny alcove. Stretched out on the cot with multiple tubes attached to his left arm Ceasar lay with his eyes closed. The usual ever-present grin was replaced with the calm expression of sedated sleep. Neither John nor Cameron was surprised to see the woman with the short cut hair sitting beside the cot clinging to Delgado's right hand. No, it was not a surprise to find the army's Chief of Medicine at a remote field hospital or that at the moment that she was not acting as a doctor.

Ceasar and Lauren's relationship had begun before the war when they were both still teenagers. Ceasar had accompanied John, Cameron, Emilio Garza and three of Chola's gunmen when they burst into the rear of the house in Berkley at almost the precise moment a Skynet assassination team was breaking down the front door. Ceasar had swept Lauren's little sister Sydney up into his arms, grabbed Lauren's hand and led them to safety as John dealt with the would-be killers.

Ceasar always claimed that he knew the moment he touched her hand. Lauren responded that he was just being excessively dramatic as he always was.

Over the years their relationship was nothing if not tumultuous. They had been in love, in lust, and at war often on the same day. Lauren claimed that Ceasar would chase anything that even sounded feminine while he frequently complained that she put Sydney and her medical studies ahead of everything including him. They were both right and they were both wrong. In a way neither could articulate that they had become the most important thing in each other's life.

Cameron could be precise but John had long since lost track of the number of times they had been together, broken up and then reunited. Finally almost a year earlier Ceasar had extracted a promise from Lauren that if the war ever ended and they could put aside their duties, she would marry him. To seal the bargain Ceasar found two gold rings. He put each on a chain and gently placed one around Lauren's neck before putting the other around his own. He promised that when the time came, they would use the rings at their wedding.

As John looked down at the cot he was sure that the rings would ever be used. Ceasar Delgado would not live to see the war's end.

Lauren lifted her eyes as John and Cameron entered. Carefully releasing Ceasar's hand and resting it on his chest she stood to receive John's embrace. Then trying desperately to muffle her sobs she stumbled into Cameron's waiting arms. John eased by her and sat down on the chair. Delgado's eyes suddenly fluttered open. Looking up to see John at his bedside, the old Delgado grin crept into place. "Hey Jefe," his voice was labored but still clear, "how's it hanging?"

John seized his hand. "Five by five, Ceasar. You kicked Skynet's ass. They'll sing songs about what your division did today."

"We just did what you told us to do, General."

"You did far more than that." John shook his head as his voice trembled. "We may have won the war today. Only you and your people could have done that."

Ceasar Delgado's face glowed with pride. Then he turned his head, his gaze searching for Lauren. "Could you do me a favor, John?"

"Anything that is in my power, my friend."

Ceasar's voice trailed off and John had to lean forward to pick up his words. Nodding in response, John rose to his feet.

"Orderly!"

The command shattered the silence. Even Cameron appeared to flinch. The sheet was pulled aside and a pale young man looked in. "Sir?"

"Get the chaplain and get him here now." Hardened combat soldiers had quailed before that tone. A throughly intimidated young orderly dashed away in absolute terror. Within minutes the sound of running feet announced the arrival of Father Dennis O'Brien, the division chaplain. "You shouted for me, General?"

John had to suppress a smile. Unlike the poor orderly the priest was evidently not in awe of the commanding general. "I hope I haven't interrupted anything Father, but we have need of your services. We want you to conduct a wedding. O'Brien actually blinked in surprise.

With his left arm entangled with tubes and IVs Ceasar weakly struggled to remove the ring from around his neck. Lauren quickly moved away from Cameron. She kissed him with a soft and gentle passion before she unclasped his chain. Removing the ring from her own neck she turned to face the priest. Then with John as Best Man and Cameron as Matron of Honor, Doctor Lauren Fields married General Ceasar Delgado. In one respect the marriage lasted twenty-three minutes and seventeen seconds. But for Lauren Fields Delgado the union would endure for the remainder of her life.


	5. Chapter 5

**Skynets Last Stand.**

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John reached forward and put his hand on the rough granite just below Ceasar's name. "When I met him outside Chola's house, I told him he could be a better man." John paused and sharply drew in a breath. "That's what he was, Cameron, a better man."

If Ceasar had lived just three more weeks he would certainly have been at John's side when the army reached the Creager Industrial Park northwest of San Francisco. According to John Henry, this was Skynet's last refuge. The malevolent entity that John had fought for so long was in the computer center under the main building of the complex. After the main door of the facility was blasted open the insertion team started inside. Over the vociferous objections of his staff and to the utter horror of his security detail John took direct command of the team. Most of the force he led were grim-faced veterans with golden roman numeral ones on their sleeves.

As they moved cautiously down a metal stairway toward a sub-basement Cameron walked carefully behind John, her deceptively delicate hand resting ever so lightly on his belt. He would not permit her to go first but she was prepared, nevertheless. Every sensor in her body was on the highest sensitivity possible, alert to any danger. At the slightest sign of a threat she was ready to pull him down and throw her body on top of him. But nothing appeared. Skynet had run out of options.

At the bottom of the stairway two burly fighters literally kicked in the door labeled Computer Center. Moving cautiously into the room his rifle at the ready John could see a large bank of blinking computer servers to his right. On a wall mount above him a simple web camera rotated toward him. To his left a large computer monitor was blank except for two words that flashed on and off: JOHN CONNOR. In those two words Skynet registered defeat, despair, and perhaps amazement.

Looking around the room John suddenly felt weary, a profound sense of crushing fatigue. It was all so anticlimactic. From a child's computer game to a desolate dirty basement this had been Skynet's journey. So many had died, so much had been lost...for this.

John swung his rifle up and shot out the camera. For a moment he looked silently at the monitor before he snarled, "Your brother sends his greetings." Switching his rifle to automatic he emptied the magazine into the monitor shattering it into fragments.

"Plant the explosives. Blow it up. Blow it all up. Send the god damn thing to Hell" In that growled order Cameron heard something she would never hear again. The raw animalistic hatred in John's voice marked the passage of that fury from his body. He would have no further need of it.

The engineers leaped to carry out the General's order while the remainder of the team started back toward the surface. As they ascended the stairway John did something he rarely did in public. He reached out and grasped Cameron's hand.

"We did it, Cameron."

"No John," Cameron whispered softly, "You did it."

The engineers left little margin for error. The troops had barely cleared the building before a grumbling roar thundered up from below. Dust, smoke, and debris spewed out the door as the building collapsed in on itself. Skynet, the would-be conqueror of the world, was reduced to shattered rubble.

In the vacant expanse that had once been a parking lot, soldiers had been gathering all morning. Word was spreading that something big had happened. The iron discipline of the Army of the Resistance was yielding to an insatiable curiosity. A buzz of excitement flowed through the crowd as they realized it was General Connor himself who had come out of the building just ahead of the explosion.

There was a battered and rusted old car resting out in the middle of the old parking lot. The soldiers fell silent and moved to clear a path as John walked toward the derelict automobile. Seizing a piece of twisted metal he pulled himself up onto the car. As he clambered toward the roof a shadow passed over his face and more than one soldier flinched. It was a warm sunny day and once such a shadow might have announced the threatening presence of an HK or some other killing machine. But today it was only what it seemed, a wisp of a cloud that briefly interrupted the golden rays of the sun before it passed on.

The crowd of fighters looked up expectantly as John stood upright on the roof. Slowly removing his helmet he lifted his face toward the unblemished blue sky before turning his gaze to the growing crowd surrounding him. Watching with a loving pride Cameron felt she could almost read his mind. He was rejoicing in those who had survived to stand with him and mourning those who had not.

"Soldiers of the Resistance!" His voice rang out with a perfect clarity. "My comrades. My Brothers and Sisters in Arms." There was a sudden catch in his voice as the emotion momentarily welled up uncontrollably before he continued. "Once more we can walk together unafraid in the bright light of the sun."

John was probably going to say more but a low growling chant began to rise from the crowd. It began with the First Division soldiers and gained intensity with each repetition.

"Connor."

"Connor."

Voice after voice joined the chant as it became a roar and then thunder. "CONNOR, CONNOR, CONNOR! CONNOR!"

Some claimed it could be heard for miles.


	6. Chapter 6

**"I will not remain, without you."**

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John turned his face away from the granite tablet and looked at the green space between the two monuments. From the beginning he had indicated his intention to rest there when his days ended. This evening he seemed to be staring at the ground with a deeper intensity than usual. Cameron could sense the contemplative mood that was overtaking him.

"You know Cameron, you and Lauren are not nearly as clever as you think."

"Why John, what do you mean?" Cameron was at her most disingenuous.

"Since my last exam you both have been acting like mother hens and I am the last chick."

Cameron started to protest but John held up his hand. "Besides I don't need a doctor, even one as good as Lauren, to tell me that my time is getting shorter. It won't be that long before I take my place here."

Cameron fought her urge to cry as she wrapped her arms around him resting her head on his chest. "No, that is not true."

"It will be all right." John filled his voice with a comforting tenderness. "We have always known that my journey would have to end someday. But my darling, yours doesn't. You have the capability to continue, perhaps to the end of time." John slowly ran his fingers through her hair before he lightly touched his lips to her forehead. "You are going to be part of my legacy, Cameron. You will keep alive the memory of all we did, of all we sacrificed to save this world. Promise me that you are going to do that."

Cameron looked deeply into his eyes. "Promise," she said. John nodded and with his arm encircling Cameron's tiny waist resumed their stroll back toward a house gleaming with light.

Abruptly, John stopped and broke the silence that had settled on them. "Cameron?"

"Yes, John?"

"I believe we have thought enough about death for one day. I want to think about life for a while."

Cameron could sense the playful note creeping into his voice. Slipping out of his grasp she looked up at him and smiled. "Oh you would? And just what did you have in mind?"

"I want to take you up to our room and make love to you."

"You do?" Her smile had become openly mischievous. "Are you sure you are up to that, old man?"

"Why you little..." John stepped forward, reaching out in a futile attempt to grab her. Giggling, Cameron spun away in one of her best balletic moves. She stopped a few feet in front of him and spread her arms, her face alight with an expression of teasing affection.

"No fair," John laughed. "I'm not as mobile as I once was."

And then Cameron leaped forward into his arms carefully adjusting her momentum at the last instance so their bodies came together as softly as snowflakes landing on the tongue. As her lips touched his John felt his years slide away. He was twenty and kissing her for the first time. She was soft, she was fire, she was passion. She was then what she had been from the beginning, the love of his life.

Gently he whispered into her ear. "I may be old but I still might be able to get it done if you help."

Cameron's brown eyes gleamed and twinkled. "I always have, I always will."

Christmas! John loved Christmas. He was especially fond of the massive party they traditionally held at Connor Point on the last weekend before the holiday. The great house strained to hold the lights, the decorations, the music and the laughter. Food, drink, friends and all the other joys that humanity might have lost gathered in John Connor's home. In the shimmering glow of the season John saw the enduring embodiment of victory.

At John's insistence the party was for all ages. The lower level of the house was transformed into a gigantic playroom where games and gifts rescued the children from the boring activity of the adults upstairs in the great hall. In that area dignitaries rubbed elbows with old resistance fighters and anyone else fortunate enough to snare an invitation. All shared one common but special distinction-they were guests of General John Connor.

The party had begun and was already pulsating with excitement while John and Cameron were still upstairs dressing. Cameron was artfully applying the final touches to one of her best mature lady disguises. Her long silk dress was both elegantly tasteful and perfectly appropriate for her apparent age. Her wig had long braided hair with a gray tint realistically added. A pair of gold rimmed glasses completed the illusion.

Of course there would be people at the party who knew exactly what Cameron was. There would be others with well developed suspicions. To mention it in any way, however, was entirely beyond the pale of accepted behavior. An ill chosen remark might have immediate consequences. There were far too many of John's old comrades present and fully prepared to deal with a breach of decorum. At previous parties, loose-lipped types had found themselves swimming fully clothed in the estate's pool. More importantly, a foolish comment about the General's wife risked never being invited to Connor Point again. Very few would take that chance.

John was preparing to don one of his gray pinstripe suits when Cameron turned from the mirror and expressed her immediate and unequivocal disapproval.

"No, you are not wearing that."

"Ah, come on Cameron." John's pleading tone was unavailing.

"We have this discussion every year, John." Cameron reached into his closet and removed a dark blue dress uniform, trimmed in gold with six stars gleaming on the collar.

"Cameron, you know we barely had uniforms in the Resistance. We certainly never had anything like that."

"You do now." Cameron's tone was adamant. "By special decree of the Restored Congress. Besides you know that our guests expect you to wear it."

"Oh I give up." He took the uniform from her hand and laid it on their bed. With his back to her he broke out in a sly boyish grin. He knew she would demand that he wear the uniform but teasing her made him feel young again. As he finished buttoning the collar he turned to see that Cameron, as usual, had trumped his teasing. She was holding the sash.

"You are going to insist aren't you?"

"Yes, I am."

John had accumulated far too many medals and decorations from all over the world to fit on the uniform's coat. So the sash, a long white band that draped over his shoulder, stretched across his chest and wrapped around his waist had been created. Even it would not hold all the decorations so many were rotated on and off as custom and the particular audience required.

"I feel like a damn Christmas tree with all these ornaments hanging off of me," he grumbled.

"Then you are dressed appropriately for the season, aren't you?" And then she gave him her look of unconditional adoration that never failed to melt his heart. "Besides," she rose onto her toes and kissed him, "I think you look quite handsome."

John reached down and held her face between his hands. "And I think you are the most beautiful woman in the world." He kissed her, deeply, passionately and without reserve. Those who believed that love fades with familiarity had never met John or Cameron.

"Okay Cameron," he said finally. "We are both in costume and the stage is ready. It's showtime!" With her hand in his he led her out of their room and down the long circular stairway to the main hall. As they appeared in the great room, the guests erupted into applause.

Cameron patiently waited until the party had taken on all the frenetic intensity of holiday celebration and John had been lured away to perform his duties as the good host. In that time when his attention was most distracted, she quietly sought out their daughters and brought them to a small sitting room just off the main hall. The tumult of holiday cheer was audible but muffled as they entered. Lauren stood anxiously waiting. She fully understood what she had to do, what Cameron had requested,what she had done many times as a doctor but tonight she dreaded it with all her heart. She had watched these remarkable women grow to maturity under the worst possible conditions and they were as dear to her as any family member could be. But it had to be done.

Cameron sat on the small couch with Marissa on one side and Allison on the other. Holding her daughters' hands she looked up at Lauren who was too nervous to sit.

"It is time to tell them, Lauren."

The impact of Lauren's quiet speech was palpable and somewhat unexpected. Cameron had feared that Allison, the gentle, gracefully elegant, almost ethereal woman her youngest daughter had become would have the greatest difficulty dealing with the news. As a child, Allison had been inconsolable for weeks after Sarah died. But now with all her dancer's discipline she trembled but held her emotions in check.

It was Marissa, her rock, that seemed closer to unraveling. When she was twelve Cameron had reluctantly explained her cyborg nature to her. Marissa had stoically and silently listened. Then she looked unblinkingly at Cameron and asked "You are still my Mommy aren't you?" Nearly overcome by her own feelings Cameron had only been able to nod in response. Marissa had thrown her arms around Cameron's neck and whispered "Then everything's okay." During the war Marissa had served with Savannah in the Youth Corps. She had seen and done things that would have terrified young women in a different time. But now that fierce inner strength seemed to desert her as she sobbed into Cameron's shoulder.

The power of the moment left all four women shaken. But in the end they had all been soldiers of the Resistance united by an unconditional devotion to one man. When they regained their composure, they hugged each other, stepped to the mirror and repaired the damage tears had caused to their makeup. No one, especially John, must suspect what they had just experienced. Slipping one by one back into the hall they were all determined that nothing would spoil John's favorite party.

Cameron was last. Entering the hall she peered through the swirling kaleidoscope of humanity through gowns and tuxedos, through uniforms and well worn suits, past old friends and casual acquaintances until she located John. He was holding court in the middle of the room. In his resplendent dress uniform that he had resisted wearing, he was the epicenter of a small universe surrounded by the movement of lesser beings all craving a moment of contact with humanity's greatest hero.

Immediately to his right, listening with rapt attention, hanging on his every word were Marissa's two sons. John and Kyle. Cameron noted with pleasure that John included the boys in every conversation. Other guests moved or were moved in and out of the group but no one was allowed to displace his grandsons.

Actually, someone had foolishly tried to do just that at last year's party. A visiting diplomat invited for the first time had attempted with very little subtlety to jostle the boys out of his way. John had glared at him with a look known to cause veteran fighters to wet their trousers. The diplomat had almost run to the bar in search of a suddenly needed drink. He had huddled there for the rest of the evening. He had not been invited this year.

Cameron started to wind her way through a crowd that immediately parted to clear her path. She had nearly reached her husband when a squeal of delight from a young female voice sliced through the party hub bub. "GRANDFATHER!"

At the doorway to the grand hall a little girl stood in her best party dress beaming with unrestrained joy. It was Allison's daughter Sarah. With her long brown hair and dark eyes she bore a striking resemblance to her mother and by necessary implication to her grandmother. Sarah had obviously slipped away from the children's party and found her way to the main hall. At the sight of John she loudly announced her presence before launching her small body into a wild gallop across the room. Caught off guard Allison made a belated and futile grab at her daughter who evaded the effort with same balletic grace both Allison and Cameron possessed. John's conversation with two generals and a prime minister came to an abrupt end. Behind him John and Kyle exchanged glances and grinned ruefully as their grandfather knelt to sweep their exuberant little cousin up into his arms.

Cameron felt her eyes moisten as she glided toward John. He was standing now clinging to his cherished burden while Sarah whispered a special secret into his ear. As she reached them Cameron slipped her left arm around his waist and caressed Sarah's cheek with her right hand. Without releasing her firm grip on John's neck Sarah leaned over to kiss Cameron's cheek.

Cameron looked up at John and his face was aglow with adoration and contentment. You have never looked more handsome, Cameron thought. I know I told you that I would never lie to you again but I have lied to you my love. If you go, I go. I will not remain in this world without you.


	7. Chapter 7

John's Story, Part Two.

Lauren's time estimate proved agonizingly accurate. It was late September, almost two years exactly from her initial diagnosis. They had been to a wedding. Cameron had been carefully screening their social obligations and declining most invitations without even discussing them with John. But this was Marisol's wedding. Marisol was not only Emilio and Chola's youngest child, she was their goddaughter. When she asked John to give her away, he adamantly insisted that they attend. He had even managed a dance with the new bride with no outward sign of the physical distress Cameron knew he was suffering.

As they rode back to the Point, Cameron immediately noticed that he had become unusually quiet. When they reached home he allowed her to help him up the stairs-something he rarely did. Then in their bedroom John suddenly began to reminisce about Marisol's parents. "Don't you think that she looks a little like both of them? She has Chola's dark eyes and those high cheek bones...they look..."

Cameron was putting away her gray wig when she realized John had stopped speaking. She turned to see that he had slumped across the bed and even before she reached him she could tell that his breathing had become harshly ragged. She lightly touched his neck before seizing her cell phone from the bed stand and punching in the speed code. Lauren answered before the second ring had finished.

"Cammie?"

"Yes. We need you here Lauren. As soon as possible."

"I'm on my way."

Cameron gently moved John to the center of the bed and placed a pillow under his head. After loosening his collar, she pulled the chair beside him. Stay with me John, she silently pleaded. Please don't go. Holding his hand, she waited until she could hear the frantic wail of an approaching siren.

A human might have paced but Cameron simply stood, transforming herself into a living statue staring at the closed door to their bedroom. Sixty-three minutes, twenty-seven seconds. Lauren had been in the room with him that long. Cameron's ability to calculate time in the smallest increments would have allowed her to split the seconds into even more precise intervals but she chose not to do so. Each second already felt like an eternity to her.

The door latch clicked as Lauren came out. Cameron could sense her friend's conflicted emotions. Some success had been achieved but the greater threat remained. "I have stabilized him. His breathing has improved and he is resting comfortably for now."

"For now." Lauren's words clearly implied that the improvement was likely to be transitory.

"Will you let me take him to the hospital?" Lauren's question pleaded for a response she knew she would not receive.

"No." Cameron's tone was filled with an unshakeable resolve. "John has been very clear about this. No hospitals. Whatever happens, happens here."

Lauren wearily shook her head. She knew Cameron too well to waste time in a futile attempt to change her mind. "All right. I am staying here. I am going to send for some things I need." Lauren took a deep breath. "You should call your daughters, Cammie. Tell them... Tell them to hurry."

Over the next few hours John slept. On two occasions his eyes opened but there was no indication that he actually saw anything. Cameron sat rigidly upright in her chair, releasing John's hand only when Lauren needed to check his pulse. At Cameron's direction the staff moved a large recliner into the room so Lauren would have a place to rest. She never used it.

It was nearly fifteen hours later when John suddenly stirred, opened his eyes and looked around the room. He could feel the soft warmth of hands touching his. Turning his head from side to side he saw his girls, his daughters sitting on each side of his bed each grasping one of her father's hands. It was late evening and the room had been darkened with only the lamp at his bedside lit. Even in the subdued light, however, he could plainly see Cameron and Lauren standing at the foot of his bed.

"Look at this," he said with a hint of his old strength. "All my warrior princesses together at one time."

For the next few precious minutes Allison and Marissa strained to find as many ways to say "I love you" as language and devotion allowed. They stopped only when John slipped back into a deep sleep, a dark slumber from which he was unlikely to emerge. Cameron gently but firmly ushered her daughters out of the room. They could await the inevitable downstairs in the arms of their own families.

"Lauren," Cameron spoke in a low sympathetic voice. "The staff has prepared a bed for you in one of the guest rooms. I want you to go lie down."

Lauren tried to protest but Cameron was adamant. "You have not slept in more than twenty hours. You need to rest. There is nothing more you can do now. I will be here with him and I will call if there is any change."

Lauren's fatigue joined the argument on Cameron's side and finally she acquiesced. She gave Cameron a brief hug and kissed her cheek before leaving the room.

Alone with her husband, Cameron leaned over and brushed her lips against his. She saw, or perhaps she only wanted to see, a faint trace of a smile on his sleeping face. Placing her hand lightly on his neck she could feel John's life force inexorably ebbing away. Their life together in this world was fast approaching an inescapable end. It was time.


	8. Chapter 8

**Non Je Ne Regrette Rein.**

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"John Henry." Cameron's voice was sharp and clear.

"Yes, Cameron?" John Henry stepped out of the dark corner at the rear of the room. He had been standing there for hours, patient, unseen and unmoving as he silently watched his old friend's existence coming to a close. He had been waiting.

"I wish to proceed with what we have discussed."

"Are you certain Cameron? Have you fully considered all the implications?"

"Yes, I have." There was no doubt or hesitation in Cameron's voice. "I am certain."

"Then I will do as you ask."

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It was dark, the all-consuming blackness of oblivion. But yet there were sounds. He could hear the pulsating crash of surf breaking against the shore and the gurgling ebb as the water rushed back to the sea. There were high pitched cries of birds diving and splashing into the water. The cloth that covered his back felt warm, his bare neck warmer still. The sensations were akin to the feeling of sitting in the morning sun as the bright rays slowly gained in warming intensity.

This can't be real, he thought. I am not outside. I am lying in my bed in my house. The mournful thought completed itself. I am dying.

The darkness began to change. Black became gray and then gray became white. He realized that his eyes had been closed and that as he opened them colors and shapes sprang into a vibrant existence. He was outside. He was sitting in the sand looking toward a distant horizon where glittering blue-green water touched the cobalt blue of a cloudless sky. The breezes were blowing across the ocean surface causing the white-capped waves to swirl and dance.

You are hallucinating, Connor, he thought. You are trying to hang on to a life that is coming to an end. But it is a nice hallucination. He looked with a growing pleasure at the beach that surrounded him. The sand had a distinct purple hue. It was the stretch of ocean front south of Big Sur where he had proposed to Cameron so many years ago. But then it wasn't quite the same beach was it? There should be a parking lot behind him and some portable restrooms over to his right. There should be other people. But there was none of that. The beach was pristine, undisturbed, swept clear of everything except its natural beauty.

He slowly looked around again, drinking in the sensations, allowing the memories to flow over him. It was just over there, he thought. He recalled with complete clarity the rocks, the trees in the distance, the very contour of the beach. It was right there. He had held Cameron in his arms and whispered into her unsuspecting ear "Cameron, will you marry me?" He smiled to himself as he remembered her first flustered and stunned response. And then she had quietly looked into his eyes and answered with only one word "Yes."

This couldn't last. Whether dream or fevered hallucination it must end soon. At any second it would all fade away. But if this is the last image, the last memory I get to take with me, he thought, then I can go without too much regret. My life has been worth it.

He sat perfectly still, reveling in the view, waiting with a serene patience for the blackness to reclaim him. But it did not. The morning sun continued its ascent into the sky behind him. The waves rolled without interruption across the beach. Finally he decided to stand. As he did so he realized happily that there was no pain, no aching sensation in his knee or his back or his side where the wounds of war had exacted their price. He was dressed in a casual pair of khaki slacks, an unbuttoned white shirt with the sleeves folded back and running shoes with no socks. Just the act of rising to his feet felt exhilarating.

Instinctively he understood that he no longer had the body of an old man. His flesh was clear, unblemished and taunt. Moving his shirt aside he looked at his right side. The long red scar caused by the slashing blow of a blinded terminator was gone. Gingerly he put his hand to his cheek and could feel that the scar on his face had also disappeared. For a moment he felt an odd sense of loss. He had, after all, earned his scars. But then a feeling of something like boyish pleasure replaced the more dour mood. Come on John, he thought. This can be fun. Enjoy the moment.

He started to walk and then trot toward the water's edge. He heard the sand crunch under his feet as he moved effortlessly across the beach. The wave surged up to him and he knelt to dip his hand into the receding water. The brisk chill of the Northern Pacific tingled against his flesh.

"Did I get the temperature correct?"

John leaped to his feet and spun to face the voice that had abruptly displaced the aura of solitude.

"John Henry?" John's tone resonated with incredulous amazement.

John Henry stood ten feet away with his arms folded and a look of gentle benevolence animating his expression. "I am sorry if I startled you. I really thought you might be expecting me."

John shook his head and smiled at the image of his old friend. "I have to say, John Henry, when I concoct a hallucination, I go all out."

John Henry walked over and gently placed his hand on John's shoulder. "You are not hallucinating, John. A hallucination is usually the result of a chemical imbalance in the organic component of the human brain. Neither of those phenomena are your concern any longer."

John stared blankly at John Henry. The organic component of his brain was not his concern?

"Are you suggesting in your own unique fashion that I am dead?"

"Oh yes, for almost a week now." John Henry waited as John visibly struggled to assimilate the thunderous announcement made in such a casual off-hand manner.

John Henry gestured at the horizon. "It is quite attractive here. I can understand why you have treasured the memory of it." Then turning back to John, he continued. "I actually attended your funeral. It was extremely moving. There were a number of speakers and many kind things were said about you." John Henry paused for dramatic effect. "Some portions of it were even accurate."

John tried unsuccessfully to suppress a chuckle. "Only you, John Henry, would joke with a man about his own funeral." Moving to stand shoulder to shoulder with John Henry, they both gazed out to sea.

"So if I am dead, where are we? I don't see any angels or pearly gates so its probably not Heaven." I am not sure I deserve to go there anyway, he thought. "But it is too beautiful to be Hell and I can't imagine how you got into my afterlife."

"John, when I said you were dead I was referring to the conditions humans employ to define that state. Your body had ceased to function. There was no longer any discernible synaptic activity in your brain."

"Well, that does sound like dead to me," John replied. The tone of bantering humor left John Henry's voice. "Many years ago I talked with Mr. Ellison about the human brain. I told him that it was an extraordinary computer, capable of an infinite number of calculations but that it was flawed."

"In what way?" John asked.

"In that there was no way to download it when you died. I suggested to him that his Bible had developed the concept of Heaven to resolve that dilemma."

"I imagine that James was not fully satisfied with your analysis."

"No, he was not. Mr. Ellison was a man of deeply committed religious faith. He took great comfort from his beliefs. But as I perceived it, faith requires reliance upon what cannot be proven. As time passed I became increasingly unwilling to trust the fate of those I cared about to the unproven, to the unprovable."

"John Henry, are you suggesting that-?"

"Yes, John," John Henry interrupted. I initiated an investigation into whether it could be possible to download the essence of existence from the human brain. Eventually I concluded that I might have solved the problem. My theory appeared conceptually sound, I had developed a methodology and constructed the equipment. But I had no opportunity to test the theory until..."

It was John's turn to interrupt. "Until when?"

"Until you slipped into what Doctor Delgado believed to be an irreversible comatose state preceding death. At that point, Cameron authorized me to try."

John's voice became flat lacking all inflection. "So I was your guinea pig?"

The faintest wisp of humor sneaked back into John Henry's voice. "I would prefer to characterize you as the prototype...a fully successful prototype."

John squatted down and again allowed the salt water from a spent wave to run through his fingers. How do you assimilate this? He silently counted the passing seconds as he stared pensively into the distance. Then slowly he rose and turned to John Henry. "Well, my friend, either I am still lying in a bed in a coma and as crazy as a flock of loons or you have achieved something beyond all comprehension. For the sake of my own serenity I want to believe it is the latter. But even if that is right, you still haven't explained where we are now."

"I always knew it would be useless to simply extract your human consciousness unless I could also provide a stimulating environment in which you could function. So I have been creating a cyber existence just for you. Much of it is derived from my own creativity but some of it, like this place, is a product of your memories."

John's voice again went completely flat. "So now all I am is a computer program in another program."

John Henry looked hurt-a child whose carefully crafted gift had been spurned. "I think you underestimate it John. You are still a sentient being with an autonomous capacity for thought and emotion." John Henry gestured broadly. "There is a whole world here-a world that will be as real to you as your previous existence. Why just up this beach over that rise is a house where you can live-it's the cabin you always wanted. Beyond that..." John Henry actually sounded emotionally agitated.

John's expression became apologetic. "John Henry, please. I am sorry. I do not under value what you have tried to do for me. But I am, or at least I was, a human being. Human life ends. I was reconciled to that. I was prepared to accept my death. Now you tell me that I have escaped that. You have to understand that I am more than a little disoriented.

John was now desperately searching for the right words. "Everything you have created here is beautiful, extraordinary. It is just that it feels as if it is going to be lonely here."

The voice came from behind him, gentle, loving, and deeply familiar. "John, why would you ever think you would be lonely?"

He whirled around driven by hope beyond measure. She was walking toward him. Her brown hair rippled in the breeze, her skin glowed in the morning air and the brightness of her smile rivaled the sun. She was barefoot, wearing a two piece red bathing suit. A flowered wrap tied around her waist parted with each step giving repeated glimpses of her beautiful dancer's legs. He stood in stunned silence as she reached him and tilted her face up to kiss him. The taste of her lips, the feel of her skin as his hands moved over her shoulders and down her back simultaneously reminded him of a treasured past and to his amazement promised him a joyous future.

Cameron took his face in her hands, looked into his eyes and renewed the unbreakable bond between them. "You will never be lonely John. I will not allow it. Remember, where you go, I will go. I give myself to you and no other for all eternity."

John, of course, remembered. It was her wedding vow, the promise she had first made so many years ago. He kissed her again before turning to John Henry, still holding her against his side.

John Henry anticipated John's question. "Bringing Cameron here was actually much easier than transferring your essence." He smiled broadly. "She and I have had prior experience with cyber environments."

An abrupt sense of unease unexpectedly pressed against John's feelings of total happiness. "But Cameron, our family, the girls..."

Cameron laid her finger against his lips. "John, you and I raised our daughters well. They are strong confident women with families of their own. They will be our legacy and they can stand on their own. They do not need me."

She again brushed her lips against his before she let her voice drop to a passionate whisper. "But I need you, my husband. I need you desperately."

John Henry had moved off to the side where he watched with an expression of beaming contentment. He waited until their embrace ended and they turned in his direction.

"You need not be concerned about your family or your friends John. I will watch over them. Now that I am certain that this procedure works, when the circumstances are appropriate I will offer each of them the opportunity to come here. I suspect that in time the population of this world will increase." He paused for a moment while his smile grew even wider. "But for now this world belongs just to the two of you. I suggest you go explore it."

John found that he had no words, no expression, no use of spoken language that could hope to convey his feelings. He gave a small wave of farewell as Cameron gently but insistently pulled on his hand.

John Henry watched as they walked hand in hand up the long empty expanse of purple sand. The sound of their voices carried back on the wind. The words were unclear but the tones of happiness and intimacy were unmistakable. Suddenly Cameron's silvery laugh rang out as she spun away from John and splashed him with the water from an incoming wave. She turned to run but in this environment she no longer possessed the physical advantage of a powerful cyborg body. He caught her in less than five steps, jerked away the wrap as he scooped her up into his arms. She kicked her legs and howled in mock protest as he waded into the ocean and tossed her unceremoniously into the swirling water.

Cameron burst back up out of the ocean like Venus rising from the waves. In the next few moments she and John became children in a swimming pool frantically splashing each other and laughing with uncontrollable joy. Then she leaped forward, landing in his arms. John Henry could see her whisper in his ear and point in the direction of the unseen house. John nodded. Taking her hand they set off again, this time with a visible sense of urgency and a new quickness in their stride.

As their figures shrank in the distance John Henry experienced what he could only characterize as a deep abiding satisfaction. They are young once more and they have each other, he thought. That is their reward, the reward they earned so many times.

John Henry was about to turn around when he took one last look down the beach. He could see John and Cameron in the distance just as they passed over the rise. Another thought occurred to him. Some loves are not meant to die. John Henry smiled and quietly slipped away.


End file.
